Metal screams. Wind howls. The rotor makes a sound I’ll hear in nightmares if I live long enough to have them.
If.
When.
If.
I squeeze my eyes shut, then force them open because if I’m dying, I’m doing it with my eyes wide.
Luke twists in his seat, one arm reaching back toward us. Scales shimmer across his skin—iridescent, protective—as he positions himself between us and impact. His eyes find Ember’s first, then mine.
For half a heartbeat, I see it: he’s terrified too.
That’s when I know we’re fucked.
“Luke!” Ember’s scream cuts through everything.
Her hand shoots out, grabs his. He grips tight.
The trees are right there. Rightthere. Close enough to count branches.
I brace for impact, every muscle locked, and somewhere in the madness, my brain supplies one last coherent thought:
Of course this is how I die. In snow-capped mountains, wearing a hoodie that says “I ♥ Bigfoot.”
The irony would be hilarious if I had time to appreciate it.
We hit.
The sound is everything and nothing. Metal tearing, glass shattering, the crunch of trees snapping like matchsticks. The world becomes violence and noise and motion. My body slams against the harness, head snapping forward.
Pain explodes across my skull.
Then darkness rushes in, thick and absolute.
The last thing I register is the acrid smell of smoke and the desperate hope that whatever comes next doesn’t hurt as much as this.
Then everything—the buffeting wind, the groaning of torn steel, the stench of burning—all of it just… stops.
Chapter 2
Mara
Pain drags me back to consciousness like a fishhook through flesh.
Not the sharp, clean kind that tells you exactly what’s broken. This is raging, total, ribs screaming with each shallow breath, left arm bent wrong, something wet and warm trickling down my temple. The world flips sideways because I am sideways, wedged between what used to be my seat and what once was the helicopter’s windshield.
I force my eyes open. The cabin swims into focus through a haze of smoke and shattered glass. Metal twisted like someone wadded up a soda can and threw it at a wall. Beyond the cracked windshield, I see pine branches jutting through the fuselage like spears, one close enough to my face that I can see the needles.
Blood on the instruments. So much blood.
Please don’t let it be mine. Please…
I try to move. Bad idea. My chest erupts with fresh agony, white-hot enough to make my vision swim. Fractured ribs, maybe worse. I’ve broken bones before—skateboarding mishap when I was twelve, TikTok stunt gone wrong last year. But this is different. This is… catastrophic.
Pain. Sweet Jesus, the pain!
I’ve been bitten in half, that’s what’s happened. It’s the only explanation. I’ve been bitten in half by a tiger shark.
